Becoming a Death Eater
by Invader Tar
Summary: OneShot on becoming a Death Eater. Firstperson narrative. R & R.


Disclaimer: I do not own nor claim the Harry Potter series by J. K. Rowling. I do, however, own a hot pink pair of converse.

A/N: Long time no post-ey on web-ey. Holiday to Utah will be re-written, be patient. Here's a oneshot to hold you over.

He led me into the room, yanking me by my elbow and uttering random phrases which had nothing to do with our present situation, as old people often do. It was the scariest and yet most comforting room I had ever been in. He stood in the middle of the room, wearing a black suit as everyone said he always wore at such meetings. He stood there, breaking off little pieces of a dry loaf of bread and throwing it at the rats gathered around his feet. The number of rats seemed to grow by each minute.

He looked up and smiled at me. It was more of a sneer, as if an invisible string were pulling at the right side of his mouth, further contorting his snake-like features. His eyes beckoned me across the small barrier in between us. The old man at my side seemed to be under the same effect, he shadowed my ever reaction. As my legs moved towards them of their own accord, I heard a snicker escape his lips. I was a bit afraid of what might happen. The room was dimly let, the only light seemingly radiating from the Dark Lord's porcelain-like skin. We were engulfed in darkness, which gave me a sense of home. The night had always been my only reliable friend.

His smile wavered as I regained control of my own body after some difficulty. My shadow obviously had not felt the same sensation, he was still stepping towards Lord Voldemort despite the fearful look on his face. It was too hard to fight for control, I could feel him tugging and pushing at the edges of my mind, begging me to let him enter, reassuring me that I would never have to think for myself again. I took another step towards him, this time consciously, showing him that I was not afraid. His sneer returned, but his eyes exposed his new feelings of intimidation.

As we stepped across the small barrier holding the now hundreds of rats at the Dark Lord's feet, a ring of fire appeared around the three of us. I should have felt trapped, but the fire felt comforting, telling me that I were to stay within it, if at least for a little while. It was comforting to know what he had planned. My shadow, however, did not seem to feel the same way. The panicked look on his face deepened, etching itself into the folds that time had created upon his once-handsome face.

The Dark Lord stepped down from his scaffold, waiting for us to reach him. Though I now had full control of my body, I moved at the same slow and hesitant speed as my shadow. The ring of fire had revealed more of the room. There were curls of ripped, old, discolored wallpaper everywhere, turning a bright green color before turning into ashes, as if they had never existed to begin with. The mildewed walls, however, seemed saddened at their demise, having nothing to cover their bare, hideous bodies. Everything seemed to be catching on fire, the entire world ceasing to exist besides the contents of the room.

The rats separated at the Dark Lord's feet as the Red Sea had done for someone else many years before. We were slowly closing the last few feet of room between us. Finally, we stood before him. I knew that my shadow had regained his body as well, I no longer felt Lord Voldemort pushing at the edges of my mind. He shivered beside me, looking pathetic and worn down with age. I fully understood Voldemort's wish to be anything but mortal, and more despicable than that, human.

He reached out for both of our hands, I gave mine up willingly, but from what I saw of my shadow out of my peripheral vision, he was still hesitant, not having admitted that he was powerless in front of the Dark Lord. As our fingertips touched, I felt him rampage through my mind, digging up memories. I saw them as he saw them, giving him complete permission to violate every private memory I had, every emotional experience which made me feel human. He seemed sickened at first, then intrigued, intent on viewing them all. I saw my reflection, wearing a short, black prom dress, it merged quickly into a loaded gun and a shaking arm, the colors running together again, this time to reveal Police fishing my father's corpse out of a pool. There was a stench of hesitation about him, his discontinuance of his life coloring him as a failure more than anything he had done before. His skin was a bruised blue, he looked disfigured and bloated. The Dark Lord seemed to speculate on the fact that I found my father's appearance humorous, and dug deeper. Now he rummaged through my childhood, revisiting bloody, violent memories I had worked long and hard to forget.

I knew he touched my shadow's hand, for now, our memories were entwined together, I had to concentrate to decipher them and attempt to recall which belonged to my existence. I saw his first kiss, his first love, his children, their deaths. The more I saw of his life, the worse I felt for the impurity of mine. He was concentrating on me again, bringing up all I remembered of him. I felt him stop rummaging after he brought to mind how I saw him, the reflection he cast on the world. He seemed displeased.

My eyes refocused on the present, the burning room collapsing around us. I was thankful for no longer having to relive memories which I had denied the validity of for years. The fire once again comforted me, beckoning me onwards and burning my past. The Dark Lord extended his hand towards my shadow and I again, unwrapping his skeleton-like fingers from around two small, round-shaped fruit. They were identical, despite the fact that one was an ivory color, while the other seemed so black that it engulfed all the light in the room, incessant on not letting any of it escape. My shadow and I both reached out to take one, there was no confusion over who would take which.

I saw him collapse to the ground as he bit into his fruit, his fragile body quickly engulfed in the swarm of starving rats. There were no screams. He seemed grateful for his most disturbing and painful death. I looked down quickly, seeing an overgrown rat dragging his decapitated head away from the swarm as a smaller rat crawled out of it, carrying off an eyeball, gnawing at the tissue to free it. His eye, despite the horrific scene which he was blind to, looked relieved, accepting, even embracing of the grim reaper and his sweet promise of a hollow abyss.

As I bit into the black fruit, my body underwent intense heat. It seemed to purify me, accepting and separating itself of my cowardice, engulfing and burning my flaws. The head left my body as quickly as it came, lingering only in my left arm where it seemed to etch itself into my body, reassuring me that it would stay there for eternity. My eyes focused again, the pain no longer blinding them. My eyes were boring into his dark, unwelcoming eyes. He smiled at me, knowing the realization that would dawn upon me. At that moment, I knew that no matter how hard I fought him and how much I resisted, as of this day forth, he would always call me his own. After all, the snake and skull, the sign of his unwillingness to grow old, his arrogance, his ownership, and misplaced love had already permanently placed itself on my skin.


End file.
